


Valentine's

by CNichole



Series: One Beat Away 'Verse [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Making Out, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CNichole/pseuds/CNichole
Summary: It's Valentine's and Tifa's pity-party is interrupted by a sexy guest. Is this just a friendly visit or something more? Can Vincent handle the inevitable tears that come with chick-flicks? Or will he be smothered by tissues before the night is through?
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Vincent Valentine
Series: One Beat Away 'Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715452
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Valentine's

**_We're going to pretend that in a world where Vincent has the last name 'Valentine," they also celebrate the day haha. Repost from FFnet (finally). Written pre-FFVIIr, but considering Vincent hasn't shown up yet, who knows how things will go ;)_ **

* * *

It's 8:57 in the evening and I'm still here, after closing up the bar early at 7:30.

There's no real need to stay open late tonight. It's definitely not the busiest night of the year by any stretch of the imagination. Besides, I don't want to deal with the kind of clientele that show up after dark on Valentine's anyway.

 _It's kinda sad being here alone, in a dark bar, mopping up a partially-sticky, partially-dirty floor,_ I think to myself.

Even Cookie, my chef, who up until two days ago was adamantly declaring his undying hatred of Valentine's Day, has a dinner date.

 _Fucking traitor,_ I fume silently.

It's my first V-day since Cloud and I ended, not that the holiday was particularly remarkable when he _was_ here, but at least I had someone to have a nice dinner with. Even if I had to make it myself.

With an exaggerated huff, I decide to ditch the cleaning for the night. It will _always_ be there for me in the morning. Leaving through the back, I alarm the building on my way out before trekking the short distance between my bar and my apartment.

I plan my night on the walk home: dinner, which will be mac and cheese with hot dogs, and a movie, something sappy, romantic, and guaranteed to make me cry. Then some ice cream, with extra caramel sauce. Okay, so apparently I've decided it's a comfort food kind of evening.

 _It's a nice night for a walk_ , I absently note. It's clear and the sky's full of stars that, amazingly, I can see.

Funny thing about the end of the world, a lot of companies that were important before everything went to hell suddenly find that they are now obsolete. Consequently the pollution problem improved along with the lack of industry. I breathe in the clear, crisp air, and enjoy it immensely. It's a nice, chilly, night where I can curl up under a blanket and cry myself silly.

The keys jingle in my hand as I make my way up the stairs to the apartment. It's wonderful here and world's away from what I'd had in Sector 7. My place is bright and open, without feeling too modern. Still feels homey to me.

At my door, I pick up the notice from the mat as I make my way inside: fire alarm test next week. Eight in the morning.

 _Ugh._ I mentally groan. _So not a morning person._

Flicking the light on in my hallway, I walk over towards the bedroom, shoes and coat coming off haphazardly, while I adjust the thermostat in the hall.

I make my way into the shower for a quick wash—bar smell is simply not enjoyable during non-working hours—and then I find the way back to my room to scrounge around for something to wear.

I've been putting off doing laundry this week, so my pajama pickings are slim. It's either sexy negligee—which is a whole lot of no thanks—or shorts and my Life's a Beach shirt that I bought a million years ago on a stopover through Costa del Sol.

 _Hmm._ I think to myself. _Cloud still has the villa there that he never uses, and I still have a key._

A light flickers brightly inside my head: _Holiday soon, once the weather's better,_ I promise myself.

Life's a Beach it is then.

After changing, I find my way to the little kitchen to make good on my promise of comfort food. Mac and cheese's in the pantry and the weiners are in the fridge. I boil some water, throw it all in the pot, and bam: instant, shitty comfort food.

Dinner is prepared and in hand, so I head towards my comfy leather couch, the one with a million throws.

This is the _one_ thing I did keep from when Cloud and I broke up—the best couch in the world, I have to say.

Setting my food over on the end table, I browse through my movie collection.

_Hmm… Sappy, tear-jerkey-romance? No. too happy. No, too sad. Oh perfect!_

You know the one? Boy meets girl, girl thinks boy is someone else, falls in love with boy, girl meets boy who she was _supposed_ to love, hates him, the whole movie happens with a lot of glitter, gusto and music and then girl dies of consumption. Boy writes about it and I cry.

 _Good choice,_ I think to myself.

I stick the movie in the machine and watch and I'm doing really, really well for starters. Not a single tear, not even a little misty-eyed.

Then I get halfway through, that's when things take a turn for the worst in the story and I already know it's not going to be a happy ending. I'm being brave, really I am, but half a bottle of wine and three-quarters of a tub of double fudge ice cream (with extra caramel) later, and I'm not holding it together quite as well as I was at the beginning.

Then the ending. Oh gods, shit, _damn—_ not the ending. And it happens, one tear leads to another and she's coughing up blood and I'm sobbing like a lunatic.

 _Oh,_ I think to myself, _star-crossed lovers. Why do I do this to myself?_ I know the answer: I'm wallowing in self-pity because I'm alone and it's Valentine's Day.

The movie rolls to the credits and I'm blowing my nose into the sleeve of my awful shirt. Okay, so not quite blowing, more like dabbing, but it's kind of gross all the same so I head towards the bathroom to grab some toilet paper.

I'm halfway out the door—roll in one hand, a wad of paper in the other when it happens. My door buzzer rings and almost scares the freaking daylights out of me.

 _Seriously._ I hope someone isn't dead because the only time _anyone_ rings my door at this hour it's bad news. I tentatively make my way to the intercom and press the "talk" button trying, and failing, to compose myself.

"Hello?" I garble out.

"Hello, Tifa," A deep, albeit kind of quiet, voice answers back.

 _What the fuck?_ My mind helpfully supplies. I cough a bit to clear my throat, "Vincent?" 

"Yes," he replies. "I am sorry about the hour, I arrived sooner to the city than I had planned and thought I'd drop by…?"

"Oh, okay... Here just let me buzz you up," I say a little haltingly.

 _Shit._ T-minus one minute to clean my crap up, make myself look presentable, and hide the evidence that I'd been sitting around throwing myself a pity-party.

My head swivels around. _Lost cause,_ my mind tells me. Yeah, I really _should_ have thought this through a little.

All too soon there's a knock at my door and the only thing I've been able to do is ditch my dishes and empty ice cream bin in the sink.

 _Shit, shit,_ _ **shit.**_ I make my way to the door, trying to smooth out my hair and make myself look presentable. Yeah. It doesn't work.

Peeking through the peephole, I make sure it's _actually_ Vincent waiting out there for me. Ayep. In all his dark glory. _Bet you he wasn't sitting around being a big bitch about Valentine 's Day,_ I glumly think.

I unhinge the lock and slowly open the door, creeping around so he can't get the full effect of my disheveled look all at once.

"You kind of caught me at a weird time," I sigh up at him. As per usual, he looks fucking perfect, not a damn hair out of place. He's dressed in a black cable-knitted sweater, casual slacks, and is a piece of dreamy-gorgeousness that I was really beginning to resent at the moment.

Then I notice, he has his left hand behind his back.

I cock my head up at him, "What's up, Vincent? Is everything okay?"

He looks down at me hiding behind my door and _I know_ he notices the red-rimmed color of my eyes.

His hand slowly rises up to my face and he rubs his thumb along my cheek, "I think I should be asking you that."

I half-heartedly laugh, secretly enjoying his touch more than I really should.

My head moves of its own accord, slowly leaning into his caress, "Oh yeah…I'm fine… Really," I reiterate when he gives me a disbelieving look. "Just watching a good, old-fashioned, sappy movie. It's the day for it."

He nods in what I assume is agreement before I move back from the door and let him in. I'm making my way back towards my couch when he catches my hand and gently guides me around.

"Hmm?" I wonder up at him, rather startled by his actions. Vincent is pretty much the least touchy-feely person I know, so having him initiate bodily contact twice in one night is startling.

Not that I _wouldn't_ like it if he did it more often. Vincent is one of those guys that I'd love to be more touchy-feely with, it's just that…I don't know if I'm ready and I never thought he'd be really ready to get back into the game, especially with me. Sure, I love to pick at him, poke his little Vincent bubble, but…more?

"Isn't it customary to exchange gifts today?" he asks as if he doesn't know the answer.

"Oh. Well…" I fumble. "I wasn't really expecting anyone…but uhh…" My mind flounders as I try to think of what I can offer him. "I have chocolate cake?" I suggest hopefully, dimly noting that his hand is still entwined with mine.

He nods. "That will suffice," he says, apparently satisfied with my offering. "I have something for you."

I raise my eyebrow up at him and take a moment to notice that his left hand is _still_ kind of hiding behind his back.

"Really?" I say, trying not to sound too excited. It's been a while since anyone's brought me a present and, I'm not going to lie, I love surprise presents.

He nods at me. "Close your eyes," he demands softly.

"What? Why?" I ask.

"To heighten the surprise," he replies.

I scrunch my face up at him.

"Trust me," he verbally prods.

Shrugging in defeat, I close my eyes. "Better not be a frog. Last time a boy asked me to close my eyes on Valentine's he stuck a frog in my hand and punched me in the arm."

"It's not a frog," he promises.

I wait for a moment and then I hear some rustling and something soft and fuzzy settles itself in my hand.

"Now?" I ask hopefully.

"Now," he agrees.

I take a look at the bundle in my hand. It's a tiny white Moogle with purple wings and a little heart between its paws that says "Happy Valentine's."

"Oh, Vincent!" I exclaim, delighted. "He's precious! Thank you so much!" And before I really know what I'm doing, I'm throwing myself at Vincent and have trapped him in a tight hug.

Ayep, that's me. Leap before I think _._ Poor Vincent, he's always getting trapped in hugs by me. I think he's getting used to it though because this time he slowly wraps his arms around me, returning the embrace.

I smile up at him. "You do your namesake proud." He rolls his eyes at that, probably remembering how Yuffie and I would tease him mercilessly on the Highwind during this time of the year.

Yes, I'm an adult now (hah), so I refrain from teasing him about it today. Next year, however, he's fair game.

"You didn't just stop by to give me a Valentine's Day present, did you?"

"Actually…" he starts, peering down at me through his dark lashes.

But I don't buy it for a minute. I poke him a little in the stomach which, I absently note, is hard as a fucking rock. An image suddenly flashes before my mind of laundry and a half-naked Vincent glistening in the sun.

 _Whee…_ my mind reels.

Coughing a little to regain my composure, I guess, "Need a place to crash for the night?"

He nods slightly and even has the good grace to look a little sheepish.

"Never let it be said that I turned down a guest bearing gifts!" I back up out of his arms and gesture for him to follow me into my living room.

"You kind of interrupted my girly movie night, so I guess you're stuck waiting until I finish my movie."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't have to leave till later in the afternoon…," he offers.

I grab his arm and pull him over towards the couch. "So, you're my guesty-prisoner until then?"

He raises an eyebrow up at me.

"Kidding," I laugh, before adding, "You hungry?"

"Starved," he admits while seating himself on my couch. He gives a cursory look at my movie case.

He doesn't say anything, but I can tell he's laughing at me—his mouth twitches slightly, and his brow furrows together like he's trying to keep it all inside.

"What?" I say defensively. "I _told_ you it's my girly movie night."

He says nothing, just picks up the movie case with his long fingers, and cocks his head to the side a little. His long, dark locks slide across his face, as he stares, judgingly.

I glare back. "You're getting left-over mac and cheese with weenies." 

His lips quirk into a half-smile he arranges himself on the couch.

I head to the kitchen and prepare my leftovers for him, stopping at the fridge to grab two beers that I'd been saving for a special occasion.

 _Shit, the cake!_ I pop back to the kitchen and balance a piece on the top of my beer cans.

"You lucked out, buster. I cut up some extra weenie for you before I threw it in the microwave and I have beers."

"I expected gourmet considering I practically live off your bar food when I am in town," he says so deadpan I almost can believe it's not sarcasm.

"I'll take that as a compliment, _Mr. Valentine_ , considering we both know Cookie is the best and I do my damndest to not ever cook for myself. You're just lucky it's not week-old takeout," I say while handing him the food.

"You ready for this?" I ask, expression mock-serious as I take my seat beside him. "I am going to cry, guaranteed."

"Consider me armed with tissue," he says casually between bites.

The movie starts innocently enough, everyone's happy, lots of kissing and loving, then the people start dropping like fucking flies; people don't get the letters they need and everything goes from bad to worse.

"I hate this part," I say, voice choked, tears in my eyes. I click pause so I don't miss anything.

"Want to fast forward?" he asks, inching slowly closer to my side of the couch.

I shake my head furiously. "No, it's the best part of the movie, but you're going to have to help me through it."

"How?" he asks, puzzled and clearly unsure about what the hell to do with a crying Tifa.

"Hold your arms out," I say simply. It's do or die time, and I'm in a ballsy kind of mood. What can I say, one beer and I'm ready to take on the world apparently…okay, so maybe it was the half a bottle of wine _before_ the beer that helped.

He holds them out and slowly I slide myself over to where he's lounging and into his arms.

He's moved back on the couch so that I can half-recline along his chest, my head resting in the crook of his neck.

"Better?" he asks, arms slowly coming around my body, tracing soothing patterns in my back.

I sniffle against him. "Getting there."

"Ready to start again?" he asks as his hand distractingly runs through my hair.

"Hmm?" I manage to rumble out against his neck.

"Ready?"

 _Oh yeah..._ My mind helpfully supplies, where ever and _whenever._

I cough twice to clear my thoughts. "Yes, I think so."

And the movie continues: she dies, then he dies, then she's not dead but he is, and then she _really_ is and somewhere between there and then I fall asleep on Vincent, the soft sound of his heart lulling me to sleep.

Sometime later I wake up and I've completely entwined myself with Vincent. Embarrassingly so. I'm pretty much never moving again unless he wills it at this point. He's sleeping, so I decide to indulge in what's been a guilty pleasure of mine for a while now: watching Vincent when he can't possibly notice that I'm ogling him.

So I do just that and it's a pretty damn-fantastic way to pass the time, if I don't say so myself. I sigh softly. He's even dreamy when he's dreaming _._

His face relaxes so much when he's not conscious. I can almost imagine what he was like a long time ago, before Hojo and Lucrecia _._ A time when maybe he was a little more careless. Though I can't imagine Vincent totally carefree, but at least not so weighed down by the evils of the world…and himself.

Unthinking, I raise my free hand (and only free limb) up to softly trace the plains of his face, which is, of course, a fucking mistake as his eyes snap open, his hand shoots up to still the movement of my own.

"Oops," I say softly.

"Tifa…" he says groggily and I can _see_ him relax.

Then, before I have _any_ time to move, he shifts and I've fallen completely into his lap…and against his lips. Which I think was his intention.

 _Whoa…_ my mind reels.

At first, it's kind of awkward, just our lips crushing together unexpectedly. But then… _then…_ it becomes something completely different.

 _He must be sleeping…_ I fuzzily think. _And I must be dreaming_.

He's slowly tugging my bottom lip between his own and I'm suddenly having a very hard time concentrating on why I should be extricating myself from an obviously sleep deprived Vincent.

I lose my inner struggle and settle for darting my tongue out to run along his lips. He shifts us again so that I'm arched up along the arm of the chair and he's hovering slightly above me, one knee at my hip, the other positioned firmly between my legs.

 _Oh wow…_ Definitely not sleeping anymore. Vincent's eyes have taken on an alluring, glowing, heat as he slowly rubs his leg between mine. I choke out a soft moan, which seems to encourage him as he slowly nibbles a path along my neck up to my earlobe.

" _Vincent…,"_ I hear myself whimper softly.

" _Tifa,_ " he growls out, teeth erotically nibbling my earlobe.

 _Oh,_ my mind distantly registers, _he still knows it's me._ And then I react.

My body, apparently taking on a mind of its own, has definitely fallen into the "Tifa Needs to get Laid Now Camp." My nails trail a firm path along his chest and across his neck. I pull him hard against my body, fingers twining in his hair to direct his lips to mine.

We kiss again and what a fierce thing it is, all lips and tongue and teeth and breath and _mmm_ …

I shift this time, flicking my trapped leg up and out and around to meet my other leg which is currently busy helping Vincent grind his thigh into me.

My strong legs slide up and shift him forward so that his middle is against and between mine… _Oh yeah…_ while his upper body is precariously balanced above me.

 _Perfect._ My mind supplies as my hands find their way up and under Vincent's sweater, smoothly padding their way along his spine.

I feel him shiver at the contact of our skin and I have to bite my lip to keep from purring in satisfaction.

Vincent's doing such wonderfully wicked things to my neck and collarbone—who knew _that_ area was so sensitive?—and I'm trailing a slow, seductive path with my fingers from his lower back around to the indent of his hip, that we both fail to notice how close to the edge of the couch we've managed to get before it's too late.

I'd like to say, given what amazingly proficient fighters we both are, that the fall was graceful and only heightened the feverish passion we had apparently ignited within each other.

I would be a liar if I said that, unfortunately.

The fall catches both of us off guard. Vincent lands on his back and I half-land on my side between his legs, which—I'm going to go out on a limb here—is probably not the most comfortable thing to happen to him considering the state he obviously is in. Yes, I imagine hard contact with my hipbone was about the last thing he was looking forward to happening to _that_ particular spot.

He groans softly and tries to curl up at the hard contact. I gasp, horrified, and squeak out a rushed, "Ohmygodareyouokay?"

He grimaces and grunts out a, "Give me a second," which I do, somewhat collecting myself, and sitting away from him a bit.

We both stare at each other, a little pink around the ears and the cheeks. Okay…Kind of awkward.

"You know…" he starts softly, his body obviously still reeling from the hardcore make-out session and then the abrupt ending to said hardcore make-out session, "if you wanted to stop…you could have said so."

"Huh?" I say, eloquently.

"Didn't have to hit me…so hard…," he says, groaning a little.

"Are you implying that I…did _this_ on purpose?" I'm not going to lie; I'm getting a little fucking indignant at the insinuation right now. Until I notice his eyes—he's teasing me.

"Oh, Vincent!" I lean forward and shove him a little.

"How like you to hit a man when he's down," he says while pulling himself into a seated position.

I stick my tongue out at him. "Be careful," I warn. "I know how to use it!"

He huffs out a laugh. "I know."

Then my shoulders slump a bit and reality sets in. "Oh, gods. What the fuck are we doing?"

He smiles a little at my mortification, before joking, "I think you've nailed exactly what I'd hoped we might be doing. Before we fell, at any rate."

I shove him again for teasing my vulgarness, face squished in annoyance. "You know what I mean…aren't we just friends? When did _this_ happen? Is this going to ruin everything? Oh, gods, you're never going to come and visit me anymore, are you?" I blurt out in a stupid, insecure rush.

"Tifa…," he starts while pulling me back into his arms so that I'm resting against his chest, head cradled along his shoulder. "I think you've known how I've felt for a long time…"

He's right. I have kind of gotten the impression that Vincent, my stoic friend, is turning into Vincent, my hot stoic friend who I'd kind of like to jump into bed with, and I'm also getting the impression that he would _also_ like to jump into bed with _me_.

Still…

"I just…" I stop, trying to think of the right words. "…I got hurt so bad last time…I don't know how much I'm ready for…" It sounds like an excuse, even to me.

He shrugs a little. "I'm willing to wait. You know my work takes me away a lot, so we can take this slow…" he suggests.

"But I don't know if that's what I'm looking for anymore and I don't want to hurt you either, Vincent."

"Tifa," he takes my chin in his hand and gently urgest me to look up at him. "I am a grown man. I can take care of myself."

"I know, I know…," I say softly, "I just…I like you too…"

His hold around my waist tightens. "Then that's a start."

I nod against his body. "Want to watch another movie with me?"

"Of course," he says while I shift out of his arms.

"Only, make it a happy one this time."

"Good idea," I agree, slowly standing and heading over towards my movie collection while he moves back to the couch. I pick out one that always makes me laugh and stick it on.

"Male models?" he asks speculatively as the movie begins.

"Oh, gods. You've never seen this?" I exclaim gleefully.

"Never," he says pointedly as if he's proud of this fact.

"Oh, _Vincent,_ " I say while rubbing my hands together evilly. "You are in for the best movie of your life."

He raised an eyebrow at that and really, I _was_ setting him up for disappointment with that kind of a lead-up, but really, sometimes silly movies are exactly what we need.

Despite my laughter and Vincent's apparently horror at my movie choice (though he couldn't hide from me the _entire time._ I saw a smirk or two) that movie ends up much the same as the other, with us both asleep on the couch. Though, this time, we sleep through the night. Fortunately, the inactivity feature kicked in and shut my television off sometime during the night.

I woke in the morning after Vincent and had the distinct pleasure of watching him try and tiptoe over to my bathroom. Good luck, my floors creep even when you're not walking on them.

"Not trying to sneak out without a goodbye, are you?" I tease from the couch.

Vincent shook his head. " _Really_ need to use the bathroom," he says.

"Coffee?" I offer.

"Perfect," he says on his way through the bathroom door.

I scramble up from the mess of blankets on the couch and notice absently that Vincent must have arranged them around me when he got up to go use the bathroom.

 _What a sweetie,_ I can't help but think.

A few minutes later, I'm humming in the kitchen with the coffee ready as some toast pops out of the toaster. Vincent soon joins me and I turn to him as he walks into the small kitchen.

 _Damn,_ my fuzzy mind reels a little, _he even looks good in the morning. Seriously unfair,_ I think while trying to smooth out the wild hairs sticking out from the top of my head. _Bastard doesn't even look a little wrinkled!_

He kind of does a slow walk into the kitchen and I kind of do a slow walk over to the coffee pot to make myself busy then he kind of moves over to the edge by the sink and I kind of move over to the fridge to get some milk; the whole thing kind of ends up being one awkward dance.

Awkward won't do. I _never_ want things to be like that between us, so I laugh and take my milk jug over to where he's trying to be inconspicuous.

I look up at him. "So," I begin, edging closer. "Where's my good morning kiss?"

He raises an eyebrow at me before smiling. I keep picking at him so the wall he likes to keep up between himself and _everyone_ doesn't have much of a chance to build itself up.

Vincent reaches his hand up towards my face and slowly traces the edges of my jaw. "Good morning, Tifa," he says softly before lowering his mouth to mine.

I lean into him and the kiss. Gods, he's good. His fingers slowly twine their way into my hair, softly caressing, while the other hand moves lower, to my waist, holding me close. It's the best start to a day that I've had in a long time and I try to take my time and appreciate it.

I decide that I like Vincent in the morning. He's not grumpy, but not overly happy either. He's just quiet and appreciative of companionable silence. Not that I'm particularly good at keeping silent, but this morning I find it more difficult than usual to find things to say.

Breakfast is a simple affair: toast, scrambled eggs, coffee. All too soon, he's at my door again, though this time I'm letting him out.

I lean against the side of the door. "See you soon?" I ask hopefully.

He nods, leaning in to kiss the top of my head softly. "Couple days, tops."

I smile up at him. "Be safe. And keep your PHS charged."

"Always," he says while slowly disappearing around the corner of my door.

 _See you soon, Vincent,_ my mind supplies when my mouth won't work anymore.

And I know that I will.

* * *

_A/N-I think this fits in somewhere along the "One Beat Away" timeline, you can decide where and when, if you're so inclined. Props to anyone who can pick out my thinly-veiled movie references. Thank you, as always, for your time, reading, and reviewing! You all are really the best._

_Just some silly, fluffy thing that popped into my head. Another girl and I were walking around Rome dreaming about Kraft Dinner, so somehow that managed to pop into here. Yes, capital of pastaland and all I can think about is fake cheesy shit. Yum. As always, don't own it and sure as hell not making any money from it, just enjoy writing it!_

_Much love!_

_2020 edits. Hey! Thanks for stopping by. Went through and gave this a little bit of a refresh. Story didn't change. Just fixed some mistakes etc. WOOHOO REMAKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE._


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